brontide
by Misila
Summary: (n.) a sound like that of distant thunder, but rather believed to be of seismic origin


**_brontide_**

.

The darkness filtering through the window paled gradually, stars blending in with the shade the first lights of a new day brushed the sky with. Nothing shattered the silence just yet, though; most of Yokohama had yet to awaken and the ones who owned the night were too stealthy to be noticed.

At least, outside.

The sizzling and frizzling of the steak in the frying pan barely made it outside the kitchen, but the smell of half-cooked meat spread across the little flat, reaching every corner and keeping Syl motionless in a corner, wagging her tail as she patiently waited for her reward.

Chuuya looked up from his meal –no matter how deep his companion's frown was, he _was hungry_ – when a sound that didn't fit in that situation reached his ears.

Chords succeeded one after another in a calm rhythm, a throaty voice making its way through the speakers of the radio; foreign words gently covered the dim living room, illuminated only by the warm light of the kitchen. Bare feet padded to the dark space, a pale hand tentatively reaching for a slightly bruised wrist.

Yosano smiled at him, sleepy but strangely satisfied even though it was four in the morning.

"I have neighbours," Chuuya scolded quietly.

"The volume is too low to bother anyone," she replied, easily slipping her hand out of his grasp; it then brushed red hair off Chuuya's face, tucked it behind his ear. "Besides, I don't have forever to listen to all your music, do I?"

His gaze wandered over the many discs he kept on a shelf, a realisation he already knew squeezing his heart once again. Of course; swing, waltz, tango–– there would be a time where it would end, where Yosano wouldn't be able to kept borrowing discs to listen to them and giving them back the next day. Neither of them knew their expiration date, but Chuuya could feel it looming over them, chuckling at his every attempt to kill it through kisses.

"Why this one?" he asked, a desperate effort to ignore a truth that was nearly as worrying as the one he had come to accept a few nights ago.

Chuuya couldn't even recall where he had purchased that disc, despite liking it when he had first listened to it; but throughout the days he had lent Yosano his music he had figured out she enjoyed music she could dance to, that she was remarkably fond of Latin American rhythms.

He neither wanted nor could help the way his arms slid around her waist, her hands resting on his shoulders. "I picked it at random," she admitted.

With her back against the window, the faint light from the kitchen blocked by his own head, Chuuya couldn't discern Yosano's expression; but he made out a small smile on her lips as she stepped closer, his naked knees knocking against hers through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

"It's a good one." Chuuya's embrace tightened, their bellies pressed against each other.

Yosano hummed in agreement, the voice coming from the radio raising slightly as it reached the chorus. She nestled her head in the side of Chuuya's neck, dark hair tickling his face.

"What does it say?"

Chuuya slightly leant his head on hers, closed his eyes. "I have no idea."

Both would later deny having started a slight swing that lulled them throughout the song, that wrapped them gently in its arms; Chuuya recognised his shampoo in the smell of Yosano's hair, as well as a lingering scent that he subconsciously associated with nothing but her. The foreign verses had something that urged him to bring his lover even closer, to never let her slip from his embrace.

"Akiko?"

The name stumbled down his lips on instinct, accelerated his heart with something between excitement and caution. It sounded so tender, like something too delicate to hold between his hands, and Chuuya wasn't even sure he was allowed to.

Yosano didn't seem to mind. Her arms slid over Chuuya's shoulders, fell limp as her fingers brushed the old t-shirt he had ( _barely_ ) slept in. From the radio, from another world, the man reached a new verse.

"Yes?"

Chuuya opened his eyes, watched the discs on the shelf– the light from the kitchen reflected on the glass doors, leaving colourful spots in his vision.

"Are you scared?"

It sounded quieter than he meant it to, voice quivering but not hesitant. Yosano burrowed her face further into Chuuya's neck, nose brushing his skin.

"Scared?" She huffed out a chuckle that left a warm trace lingering on Chuuya's throat. "I'm as terrified as you."

Her arms flexed to hug Chuuya's shoulders, a sharp inhale reverberating through both their skins. Yosano kept her expression hidden, though; she didn't look up even when Chuuya pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Then why don't you leave?"

It would be so easy. If only he knew Yosano didn't want him in her life anymore, Chuuya would have the perfect chance to stop seeing her, to focus on his job until his mind stopped wandering back to her. All he needed were a few words. The correct words, and everything would be over.

But Chuuya knew what Yosano truly wanted, what he himself yearned for, and it wasn't their relationship to expire.

Yosano straightened up, just enough to look at him in the eye.

"Why don't you?"

A tired sigh left Chuuya's lips as his forehead leant against hers. He hated acknowledging he had the answer to that particular question almost as much as he hated their expiration date.

It was too late to regret it.

Their lips met halfway, the last chords of the song dying around them as the first rays of sun raised above the sea.

(In the end, the steak burnt.)


End file.
